I haven’t written a love poem in a while,
not a word.

I wonder where they have gone- they once arrived,
a dime a dozen.

and now, nothing.

Declarations written, longings revealed,
revels of honeyed days and moonlit nights,

all that and the metaphors, gone.

Instead, I think of you at your work,
industrious and strong,
your smile, quick and your voice
full of softness.

Your thoughts reside with tasks at hand,
hands worn hard and beautiful.

Your gaze, thoughtful
and those (blue!) eyes, filled with kindness-
wind and sun tied in your silvered mane.

I think of you, your body, aged well as whiskey,
and I drink you in, savoring every moment.
Every moment.

No, no love poems.
Not a one.